


Sacrifice

by whitetiger91



Category: Harry Potter - J. K. Rowling
Genre: Angst, Blacks, Death, Decapitation, Gen, Graphic, Hurt, Minor Character Death, Stuffed House Elves, house elf, minor character pov
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-02-23
Updated: 2015-02-23
Packaged: 2019-02-17 23:14:34
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,709
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/13087461
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/whitetiger91/pseuds/whitetiger91
Summary: Warning: If your name is Hermione Granger, or if you are a member of S.P.E.W, you probably won't want to read this story. I have rated it M just in case (although it's more of a T) as it does contain some (mild) gore/ graphical imagery."He was a hunter; she was as dark as the shared Black blood that flowed through their veins. Together, they were supposed to survive the endless winter that had engulfed their hearts." A glimpse into the lives of Orion and Walburga as they sacrifice what is most important to them.





	Sacrifice

_He was a hunter; she was as dark as the shared Black blood that flowed through their veins. Together, they were supposed to survive the_ _endless winter_ _that had engulfed their hearts._

**1979**

Orion breathed through clenched teeth, biting down on his tongue as another wave of icy pain coursed through his aching body. His muscles twinged and his skin itched, yet he did not allow himself to rest until he had completed his job. Taking another painfully shallow breath, he withdrew his wand and began the familiar chants.

He carefully waved his wand back and forth, up and down, as he uttered curse after curse. It was a rigorous process, trying to remember all that he had come up with, but it was necessary. Finally, with the last protective spell in place, he sighed.

Grimmauld Place was now protected, safe from any enemy who dared enter its space—Muggle or Auror. He had made sure to cast as many charms as possible, spending the entire month researching different combinations that he was sure no other wizard would know. It wasn't necessarily that he and his wife could not defend themselves; in fact, he smiled proudly, Walburga was quite the talented witch when it came to Dark magic, easily out-duelling her fellow students when she was at Hogwarts. Unfortunately, it was more that the war's progress was uncertain, and one could not be too careful about their safety.

Stretching his back and hearing it crack, he grimaced. He was only fifty years old, yet his body seemed to have crippled his ability to work for extended periods of time of late. He blamed it on the recent events that had occurred—such a loss was sure to make any grown wizard tired.

A sudden bout of coughs rendered him immobile as he spluttered uncontrollably into a silk handkerchief. As soon as he was able to withdraw it from his mouth, he wrinkled his nose in disgust at the small droplets of blood coating its soft surface. He called for his own personal house-elf to destroy it, realising a moment too late that the wretched creature had died the day before. Cursing at the inconvenience of everyone around him dying, he walked into the living room.

"Walburga, dear, are you ready for our walk?" he asked, not allowing the hopefulness he felt to seep into his strong voice.

For the last month, his wife had sat in the same forest-green armchair, staring into the fireplace. She barely ever spoke as she silently watched the embers glow brightly and the flames flicker. She would sometimes twirl Regulus' golden ring around her fingers, tracing the Black family crest absentmindedly.

Unfortunately, today was no different. Walburga shook her greying head and continued to stare sullenly into the fireplace. Orion thought she looked rather imperious sitting there with her back rigid, imitating the qualities she had always been taught wizardly 'royalty' ought to show.

He sighed inwardly in defeat, not bothering to change her mind. He knew she was still in mourning over their only son, Regulus, and not even their traditional walks around the courtyard would move her from her stupor. He missed the time he had previously spent with his wife; those walks were the highlight of both of their days.

He too had felt the loss of Regulus, yet took his death as a sign that the Noble Cause could be lost – he wasted no time in placing stronger wards upon his ancestral home. His schoolmate, Tom Riddle, or as he now preferred to be called, The Dark Lord, had made sure to purge the world of Mudbloods and blood traitor filth. Unfortunately, his son had proudly died for the cause as did many other Death Eaters, leaving them with no one in their family to actively fight for wizarding purity—save for his niece and her husband.

A silence fell over the room as Walburga continued to sit unblinking, draped in her finest black satin robes. A clock above the mantelpiece ticked away ominously, signalling that the day would soon draw to a close.

"I wonder, was it worth it? Was it worth the sacrifice of his life to—to—" Walburga finally turned to him, her piercing eyes full of worry.

He didn't respond, having thought the same thing many times that month. Perhaps if the Dark Lord had told him he was too young, or perhaps if Regulus had served him in some other way, he would still have his son. Now, he was only an angel in the sky, or rather, had returned to the heavens as the constellation he was so fondly named after.

He quickly shook his head of these thoughts, berating himself for the moment of weakness.

Walburga apparently felt the same way as she continued, "No, of course, it was." She shook her head ruefully, settling into another silence.

Orion felt another wracking cough head towards his throat and yelled for his wife's house-elf to fetch him a drink. Water streaming behind his closed eyes, he punched his fist against his chest to stop the pain. When Walburga didn't reprimand him for making such a racket, he decided to try and cheer her up.

Snatching the glass of water from Kreacher's shaking hands, he barked at the stupid creature to go and fetch his own house-elves' probably already decaying body.

Within minutes, the elf came bowing into the room, dragging a lumpy bundle behind him. Walburga seemed to perk up a little, realising his intentions.

"Kreacher, go find me some garlic."

"Yes mistress, right away mistress." As the elf disapparated with a tiny pop, Walburga turned to him.

"Thank you, dear."

"My pleasure my love."

He allowed a smile to grace his carefully composed features as Walburga withdrew a dagger from within her robes. The obsidian rock that graced the polished silver knife's hilt shone as she sliced it through the air, practising her movements. The blade itself was infused with dark magic, allowing a clean cut through any object, including bone.

She snarled impatiently at Kreacher as he returned with a burlap sack and eagerly took out its contents of feathers and garlic. Aiming a kick at her house-elf, she got to work on carving into the neck of the dead elf in her lap.

He continued watching as his wife steadily grew happy, easily snapping the head off the lowly being's body. Although it was dirty work, he knew that his wife delighted in the task of stuffing the remains of their deceased staff, having already created quite a decent collection of heads above the staircase. It was just a pity that this particular creature had gone too far in its self-inflicted punishment—the burn marks produced a charcoal colour on its leathery skin, rendering the body quite useless for any bag he could have had made.

He loved that she was such a strong woman; his own sister-in-law, Druella, would have surely fainted at the darkened blood that now oozed across Walburga's long fingers in sickly crimson clumps. His wife obviously did not mind that the creature's large orbed eyes were focused upon her, unseeing, as she scraped a talon under its opened chin, trying to tear through the muscle. Before Regulus had passed away, he would take Walburga out into the forest behind the neighbouring village and she would help collect the pheasants, cracking their necks back with ease if they were still alive.

Feeling his body begin to itch again, he decided it would do him good to have a bath and ease his aching body. He walked to Walburga and gave her a kiss upon the cheek, informing her of where he was going. She smiled slightly, content with continuing on her task.

As he left to walk up the stairs to the bedroom, not having the energy to Apparate there, he paused at the doorway and looked back into the room. Walburga had just thrown the body into the roaring fire and he smiled sadly, knowing that she wasn't quite up to her normal self.

If she had been, she would have ordered Kreacher to take the useless body and dump it into a neighbouring muggles backyard- she absolutely adored making the grimy children scream when they discovered such a nasty site in their cubby-houses. It was a wonder no Ministry member had come to caution her about her breach of informing the muggle world about their superior wizarding one; although, if he thought about it, no one dared to admonish the esteemed Blacks, and the little mishaps were probably covered up.

He continued on his way, thinking that perhaps they would spend more time together on a walk the next day.

* * *

**1985**

Walburga shivered, drawing her lacy black shawl tighter around her skinny shoulders, despite the warm night air surrounding her. She always felt cold; had done so for years now, having never gotten over the unending winter that had taken both her home and her heart hostage.

Her dark eyes were alight with mirth as she cackled madly to herself. That other boy had been rotting in Azkaban for four years now, and it was a small comfort to finally receive some justice in the world. The Death Eaters had fallen as had the Dark Lord— _her_ lord—and now, no one was with her to share in her Pureblood rants.

A dog could be heard howling from somewhere in the street, setting off a round of barking. Grasshoppers chirped nearby, as the trees stood watching in silence.

She raised her eyes to the stars, ignoring the watering of her eyes. She searched for two constellations, smiling as she saw Regulus glinting high above her—his presence up there would not be for nothing, she promised. Adjusting her gaze slightly to the left, she soon found Orion as it, too, twinkled a greeting.

As she continued watching her son and husband glitter from afar, a single doubt made its way through her mind. It was something she had contemplated ever since Dragonpox had confiscated her last treasure and she had realised too late that she had wasted time and now it seemed to be spelt out in the stars— _Was the sacrifice really worth it?_

**Author's Note:**

> Sorry if this made you feel a little sick in parts. This was originally written as a dare because people thought I was too... fluffy. The grammar is horrendous, too.


End file.
